April 9th, 2008
Quiet Village
I bet Robert Rodriguez is a cool dude.
I’d much rather hang out and chat with him than Quentin Tarantino. I mean, you just get the impression that Rodriguez would be a really good listener. Not only that, but he’d cook you a delicious meal. Something combining his Mexican heritage with current international trends. He’d call it “Mexican fusion” and would baptize it such without a hint of pretense. And then he’d serenade you while wearing a sombrero; just enough to keep it silly but without reducing the significance of the gesture.
As for Tarantino, well, he’d probably force you to do coke, then slap you around when you did it. Then he’d scream “I WAS IN RESERVOIR DOGS” at your face, then slap you around some more. The he’d… I dunno, it’d just be real, real depressing and grim. He’d probably have Eli Roth over and he’d sit there and laugh, wearing a faux-hawk and holding a cocktail, pointing and laughing.
Jerks.
But then, playing in the background, would be Quiet Village’s Circus Of Horror in all its urban triumph. Since you’d be trying to repress whatever terrible things would be happening, you’d lose yourself in its 1970s era jive groove, complete with infectious bassline and swaggering horns, creating a fresh atmosphere where big cars and polyester become à propos. The song paints a soulful picture of perfect soundtrack proportions, where sirens and screams evoke the dusty facade of the cinematic gritty city, where brashness was matched only by style. It’s not even remotely as ironic as you may think; it’s a spot-on homage which translates into a ready-for-summer head bopping groove.
Then, almost as if on cue, Robert Rodriguez would burst in, appalled at what would be happening. He’d then wrap his arms around and cradle you softly, and you’d know, you’d know, with a deep exhaling breath, that everything was going to be alright.
*sigh*